


pentagram

by Leyenn



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: 5 Things, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Compliant, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Character Death Fix, F/F, Not Canon Compliant, Not Really Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:06:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leyenn/pseuds/Leyenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five symbolic moments that draw a relationship; five times Susan surprised Talia. Relatively canon-compliant edition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pentagram

**1.**

Her head _hurts._ They're pushing through her thoughts like snakes of hot oily smoke, invisible, intangible, unstoppable, scalding every place they touch - and she wants to curl in on herself, instinct demanding she shy away from the pain, hide her self from the assault, but she can't, it will only be worse, she _can't_ , she can't take this -

Then they're suddenly gone and she's stumbling against the desk, alone in her own head again. Rough, throbbing bruises blossom all through her mind and she wants desperately to curl up and cry the tears burning behind her eyes.

And the worst thing, even over the receding pain, is that the people who've been in her mind don't _care_. Sinclair is the kind of man who might, she thinks, perhaps, but he could never understand how this feels - to have her mind torn open, every thought and memory turned inside out with cold hands.

And Ivanova...

Ivanova is holding out a glass of water to her across the desk.

Dull surprise cuts through the pain: she looks up and Ivanova is watching her - and for a split second as their eyes meet, so quick she thinks she's the only one who sees it, there is clear understanding, anger, even sympathy in that steady gaze.

 

**2.**

Susan is the first one to touch. The night that Talia simply shows up at her door, trying not to show just how broken she feels behind a false, desperate smile, and something in her life finally starts to go right again when Susan lets her in. Not only that, but lets her sit, ignores the wine and glasses for exactly the cowardly barrier they were intended to be and sits with her, still wrapped up in the deep blue satin that makes Talia want to blush with embarrassment when she really takes it in.

"I woke you," she says, suddenly mortified. Susan smiles wryly.

"You would have, if I'd had time to sleep."

"I'm sorry," she says, and she's shifting her weight to stand, to leave, when she's frozen in place by Susan's hand on her wrist.

"Stay," Susan says, gently, and there's concern in her voice, in her eyes when Talia looks there. "I wouldn't have let you in if I didn't mean it," she says. Her fingers don't move on Talia's skin, but they don't pull away, either. Her hand, her voice, both are warm. "Stay."

So she stays.

 

**3.**

Susan is the first to kiss her, too, with lips even softer than she's imagined and gentle fingers touching her hair. They're standing in her quarters, two steps inside her door as Susan is about to leave for the night, and every time she comes home until the day she loses her mind - so very literally - she's reminded with blinding clarity of how this moment feels.

Susan is gentle, hesitant but daring; her mouth is soft, wet, as hot as the sudden furnace under Talia's heart. She puts both hands on Susan's waist and Susan leans into her, slips one hand behind her neck, palm just as hot against her skin. Talia shivers, tightens her grasp on Susan just to steady herself.

She's wanted this so, so much for so, so long and it's Susan actually kissing her at long, long last and she feels something inside her come alive, something that pulls her chest tight and makes her head spin, something lighter than air and burning like she's on fire.

And then just when she isn't sure she can take the feeling any more, Susan pulls back but holds her in close, forehead tipped against hers.

"Breathe," Susan murmurs, voice as soft as her lips and smiling, and Talia smiles back and takes a deep, if slightly trembling breath in.

"I've wanted..." she says, even though Susan obviously knows. She hopes Susan knows. She wants Susan to know.

Susan smiles wider. "I know."

She rubs her thumb against the soft cotton of Susan's tunic, feels it glide across the softer skin beneath. Susan's body is warm under her hands. Warm, and soft, and gentle; this is as much Susan as the efficient, professional, dryly sarcastic Commander that everyone else sees, and Talia finds herself as surprised as she is happy that she's allowed to know both.

 

**4.**

"So then the Commander," Susan says, and takes a moment to sip her tea, and in that moment Talia reaches across and puts fingers on her lips.

"Don't tell me," she says, laughing, and Susan smiles and takes her by the wrist, kissing her fingers. It's playful, easy, and Talia smiles back and leans over to kiss her mouth instead.

Susan puts her mug down and pushes Talia back onto the couch, stretching out over her, blue satin wave of her robe brushing against the skin left bare by Talia's own silver nightgown. Talia wraps both arms around her and pulls her down and Susan pushes one thigh between hers, nibbling on her lower lip. Sometime in the last months of this beautifully slow courtship they're having, Susan's worked out a half dozen ways to make Talia forget how to think entirely, and right now she's putting that knowledge to full use. Talia's quietly amazed she can even remember how to breathe with Susan on top of her like this.

Susan's hands slip under her robe, stroking her skin. She bunches Susan's robe up between her fingers. Susan's thigh pushes harder between her own. She moans softly into Susan's mouth, arches her back as Susan pulls back and looks down at her, and there's something in her eyes...

"I think I love you," she whispers, honest and brave and so obviously falling, and Talia feels her heart break and soar.

 

**5.**

When she wakes up from the longest nightmare of her life, she's back on Babylon 5, in what she thinks must be MedLab, and Susan is sitting at her bedside.

"Susan," she whispers. Her own voice. She's amazed she can make it work, it's been taken from her for so long. Tears stab at her eyes, and she clings to the sight of Susan's face, Susan's smile, far longer than she should. "Am I..."

"You're safe," Susan says roughly, and squeezes her hand, and she realises that's the warmth she can feel around her fingers - Susan's hands holding her own. It's been so long, even that sensation is unfamiliar. She squeezes back, or at least, imagines that she does. She must, because Susan's eyes flare with some emotion she can't touch, can't quite hold onto, but feels all the same.

She isn't aware of starting to shake, can't tell when it is she switches from even breaths to brief, catching sobs that grip her chest with pain. She's so, so _cold_ , every inch of her skin, and she can feel it, and she can't stop it. It's terrifying how much sensation pours in - sight and sound and thought, the taste of the recycled air and the rub of the sterile sheets on her skin, the heat of Susan's touch, the burn of the overhead lights behind her eyelids and the pounding of her own pulse between her temples, the never-ending thud of it in her chest that's so _loud_ -

"Talia," Susan's saying, just her name, over and over again, and through all the regained sensation there's the unmistakeable brightness of Susan touching her, leaning over her and a hand stroking her hair, held warm against her face.

"She's in shock," Stephen Franklin says, and her head fills with the sound of him, every word sharp and _there_ the moment before he speaks it. None of them make sense to her: too long since she had to parse spoken words, questions, whole sentences.

"Talia," Susan's saying, still, voice that makes her throat ache, brittle with too much feeling. That's not the Susan she knows, not the woman she remembers, so publicly reserved and confident in her passion - it's pure emotion, the sound of her voice now, pure and real, saying things like "it's okay, you're safe now," and holding her as she trembles under Stephen's ministrations because she can't stop, can't take in everything she's trying to process after so long.

And then Susan's lips are soft - as soft as she remembers - and unmoving against her temple, and Susan's voice is saying her name, still. _Talia._

She opens up desperately, a plea she doesn't have to fully frame, and Susan's shields enclose her mind, walling her away from the chaos in sudden quiet.

And just like that she knows. How long it's been. How lonely. How utterly _terrifying_ in so many unspeakable ways. Everything that's happened since she's been gone - _lost_ , is the word, in Susan's head, black and hopeless with the burn of tears and alcohol behind it. What it's been like, being out here in the darkness, fighting nightmares. The losses, one on top of the other, the pain and the anger of being called _traitor_ , of knowing nothing for certain except the next day's fight. The desperate wanting to go home, without knowing for certain where to find it, any more.

She knows the lengths they've gone to just to find her. How long it's taken. The favors called in, the rules broken to bring her back whole again. She knows that Michael, Stephen, the Captain all but gave up. That Susan never did, because she never _could_.

_Susan,_ she says, and in her head her voice doesn't tremble.

_I lost you._ Susan's does. _I couldn't - I couldn't, not again._

_I lost everything,_ she says, _they took everything,_ and Susan holds her tightly as something cold presses against her wrist.

_You're safe now. It's over now._

_You're in my mind,_ she says, with wonder and confusion, aware that she's slipping back into the darkness.

_Yes,_ Susan says, not easily, but simply, and then sleep takes her again, but this time she's not alone.

 

**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Someone asked me for this one a long time ago. Surprise!


End file.
